Arpeggio
by Piper Sargasso
Summary: Scully rediscovers an old friend.


Arpeggio  
By Piper Sargasso  
  
 Disclaimer: Characters within belong to CC and the gang. No infringement   
intended.  


Author's Note: I'd like to dedicate this to all my listmates at IWTB. You've all  
been incredibly supportive in all my endeavors, and for that, I'm forever   
grateful. Special thanks to Sallie, for the great beta and to Gail, for all your  
helpful suggestions.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
How long since I've run my hands over the smooth, cool maple, admired the   
glossy surface and the fine grain of the wood? I'd almost forgotten the delicate   
arch of the bridge, the exquisite craftsmanship and the weight of it, resting   
between my thighs.   
  
I trace the swirl of the scroll and delicately finger the pegs in preparation of   
tuning the fine instrument. I've so missed the graceful flare of its body, the   
delicious curve of its ribs. If a cello were a woman, she'd have a beautiful   
hourglass figure, waist small and hips gently curving out. Sensuous and full-  
figured, melancholy and bright all at once.   
  
My hands lower to lightly feel of the belly, taking their time stroking it and   
absorbing the cool sensation as if exploring a lover's body for the very first   
time. Tracing a languid finger over the F-holes and the cut out hearts of the   
bridge, I feel something strangely akin to a homecoming. I've stayed away far   
too long.  
  
I admire the elegant neck, wrapping my fingers around its solid grace before   
laying it against my own. It feels cool and good against my heated skin.   
Bending down, I lift it gently and adjust the tail spike to the appropriate length,   
then return it to its former position. My bared inner thighs elicit a small shiver   
as I reacquaint myself with an old friend. I pluck at the strings tenderly,   
listening with great care to the sound each one emits and twist the ebony   
tuning pegs accordingly.   
  
Once satisfied, I lean over to retrieve the bow, tightening the screw to bring it   
to a taut arch. The bar of rosin slides slowly to coat the hairs, and I savor the   
familiar smell of it as it greets my nostrils. The slight weight of the bow settles   
into my hand as if it remembers its old home.  
  
Bringing my left hand to the fingerboard, I tentatively place my fingers atop   
the strings and bring the bow to rest above the blonde bridge. The first, slow   
pull of the bow across the strings draws the most beautiful sound. We share a   
few moments of awkwardness. It has been years since I've uncovered this   
treasure from the back of my closet, years since it has been removed from its   
large, black case. No frets and over a decade of neglect make the journey   
difficult, but I feel an urgency propelling me forward. Rosin flakes and settles   
onto the richly colored wood as I play, slowly remembering the notes and   
finger placement, recalling the exact method of wrenching a deep melody from   
the extraordinary body.   
  
I close my eyes and allow myself to become possessed by it. Bach's Air,   
adjusted to alto. I was never talented enough to play professionally, like Ellen,   
but I played well in college. My fingers slide up and down the length of the   
fingerboard as the bow flies across the tightly pulled strings. The rich, full-  
bodied sounds pouring from the hollowed belly echoes inside my own body, a   
tingling gathering low in me that can't, won't be denied.  
  
I play on, perched at the edge of my chair, skirt hiked around my hips and just   
let it flow from the depths of my soul. It has complete and utter control over   
me now. I'm powerless to stop it and wouldn't want to. The sweet, exquisite   
sounds of Locke's Suite No.2 in B-Flat Major wail from the strings and I feel a   
warm, wet kiss on my sensitive neck. It feels right and perfect and I slow the   
tempo. The music takes me to a tranquil, deeper place while the warmth nips   
and tugs at my earlobe, dragging the tenderness of it down my neck once more.   
  
A,C,D,G. Each string pours its heart out in an enchanting vibrato, depositing   
them inside me as I register a large, splayed hand reaching inside my half-  
unbuttoned blouse, tenderly rubbing an open palm across my peaked and   
sensitized nipple. I hum in synchrony with the trembling, wooden body   
captured between my legs, allowing the sensations to overwhelm and   
overpower me.  
  
The hand removes itself from inside my lacy bra and trails delicately over my   
clavicles, tracing the line of my jaw. I soften under the touch. It makes its slow   
journey down my neck and arms, caressing the flesh of my exposed thighs   
wrapped around the instrument. I jump at the sensation. My nerve endings   
dance throughout my fevered body, the music growing ever frantic in response.   
We are one and the same.  
  
I shift ever so slightly, allowing access to the exploring wanderer kneeling   
behind me. Thumb tracing circles on my inner thigh, hand snaking into my   
shirt once again, rolling my nipple with practiced dexterity. The sudden shock   
of fingers tickling inside my panties makes me jump. My hands pause.  
  
"Don't stop, Scully. Play."  
  
His fingers move from my tight curls, sliding deftly into my warmth. I gasp   
softly, pulling the bow fervently across the strings. Higher and higher I climb,   
welcoming the possession of body and soul. A submission I'm succumbing to   
with an eagerness I've never felt before. It excites me.  
  
The notes became choppy, discordant as I clutch at the vibrating neck, the   
effort to grasp it and the bow becoming ever difficult with my sweaty and   
trembling hands. Lightheaded with dizzying intoxication as he plays me, the   
music guides me to crescendo. My back arches and the bow drops from my lax   
hands to clatter to the floor.   
  
He withdraws his hand from my shirt and walks to the front of me, admiring   
the sight of my legs, dropped carelessly open beneath the gathered fabric of the   
skirt I wore to work today and the flush of skin above my unbuttoned blouse.   
My breasts heave with the effort of my ragged breathing, my cheeks hot and   
pink. Desire, boiling and dark, bubbles within my belly. I feel it radiate with an   
insatiable need from every ounce of my being.   
  
With a predatory stare, he jerks the instrument away from my body and shoves   
it to the side, dropping on the floor to kneel before my spread legs like a pious   
man before his deity. Impatiently, he pulls my panties over my hips and down   
my legs, depositing them on the floor. I can't move. He locks hungry hazel   
eyes with mine and presses a kiss between my thighs, passionately proving the   
intensity of his love for me. I wind my fingers into his dark hair, throwing my   
head back in pure surrender as he takes me beyond any place I'd ever been   
before. I'm flying, being torn asunder while the staccato of my beating heart   
pumps furiously against my eardrums. My body has a melody all its own,   
rising and falling as I pull him closer to me.  
  
A perfect symphony.   


  
~ The End ~


End file.
